75. Calico and Coral
Dusk in the colonies, the swings grow rust,
and mold creeps up the wall, moss, moss returns.
Now seagulls are more daring, woods and soil
palpable. Our teacher’s hair is filled with leaves.
October, insects settle in where there is
feminine scent. Traces of love persist,
but covered by this sheet of air, time’s pane of glass,
milky crystal. The rest remains in air, it’s form
electrical, like the language of plants and beasts,
beyond us, beyond us for now.
Everything has happened,
scrawled in faint script across the beach’s banner,
second by second, wave by wave, word by word,
traces of love the sea devours, spits out, devours.
We’re leaving, dusk lying down in our beds.